


The (he)art of it

by Jo (jmathieson)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, M/M, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 12:23:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5416970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint pretends to be Phil's date for a Christmas party at his sister's art gallery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The (he)art of it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crayyyonn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayyyonn/gifts).



“Hey boss, here’s my mission report from the Milan op.” Clint Barton strolled into Phil Coulson’s office and dropped the paperwork on his desk. Phil pulled a fancy-looking envelope from underneath the papers Clint had just deposited and quickly stuffed it into his desk drawer. “What’s that?” Clint asked.

“Nothing.” Phil reached up to straighten his tie—a nervous tell that Clint had catalogued years ago.

“You don’t usually hide ‘nothing’ from my prying eyes. It had your name on it.” Clint was having fun. It wasn’t often he got to tease Phil, so he was going to take full advantage.

Phil sighed. “It’s an invitation from my sister to her art gallery’s Christmas party,” he said. “And before you ask, no, I’m not going.”

“Why not?” Clint leaned one hip on the corner of Phil’s desk.

“Because if I do she’ll try to set me up with every single guy there.” 

“Wow. Okay, so one: I didn’t know you had a sister, let alone one that lived in New York and ran an art gallery; and two: I guess I always assumed you were gay, but I never expected to find out for sure like this. I’m uh, bi, by the way. Just to be fair and stuff.” 

“I know. It’s in your personnel file.” Phil met Clint’s eyes briefly, and then looked back at his computer screen.

“Oh, right. So, uh, you’re not going to this fancy art shindig because you don’t want sis trying to pair you off with some art nerd who wears funny french hats and talks about symbolism. Makes sense.” Clint had a wide grin on his face.

"Was there anything else, Barton?" Phil seemed annoyed now, either at himself for having revealed too much, or at Clint for having asked about the envelope in the first place.

“Uh, no, I guess not." Clint started to leave, but as he reached the door he stopped and turned. "I could go with you," he said. "To the party. As your date. Then your sister won't try to set you up with any dweebs."

"I don't need to go to the party, Clint." 

"Oh, yeah, of course not. I just thought maybe you wanted to because family and Christmas and stuff like that." Stuff that Clint obviously knew nothing about.

"If I showed up, it would go a long way towards getting me off the hook for having missed Thanksgiving, again." Phil sounded thoughtful. Clint headed back over to his desk. 

“We were on an op in Manitoba on Thanksgiving. You bought me a turkey sandwich.” Clint smiled at the memory.

“My sister thinks I work in insurance.”

“Of course. So if you wanted me to go with you to the party, I’d dress up nice, and I'd be on my best behaviour, promise. ‘Cause I wouldn't want your sister to think you were dating a jerk with no taste.” Clint was using his best wheedling tone, the one that usually got him an extension on his paperwork. “Though, obviously anyone dating you has great taste." Clint shut his mouth with a snap, realizing that he was probably letting on more than he should. 

"And what, exactly, would you get out of dressing up nice, and being on your best behaviour, and spending two hours looking at modern art surrounded by dweebs?" Phil arched an eyebrow at Clint.

"Uh, well there will be food, right, and fancy drinks?"

"You don't drink."

"You could, uh, not bug me about my mission reports being late for a week. I mean a month."

Phil looked at him thoughtfully. "It could work. You pretending to be my date, I mean. We've done enough undercover ops together that we should be able to pull it off." Phil opened the drawer and pulled the invitation back out. "Next Friday at eight. Are you available?"

"Yes," Clint said quickly. "I mean, uh, I'm pretty sure I'm free. Let me just check." Clint pulled his phone out of his pocket and pretended to check his non-existent social calendar. "Yeah, I'm good for next Friday."

"All right, then. It's a date." Phil smiled a very small smile, and Clint grinned widely back at him.

~~~~~~

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Nat asked.

In a panic over what to wear, Clint had called her and begged her to come over. 

He was holding up his 'good' black suit and she was shaking her head. "No, that won't do at all. It's a Christmas party not a funeral."

"But I promised to dress up nice, and that means a suit, and this is the only one I have. And of course it's a good idea. Phil, uh, Coulson wants to go to the party, but doesn't want his sister to try to set him up, so I’m pretending to be his date. What could go wrong?"

"What could go wrong fake-dating the man you've had a disgusting teen-aged crush on for years? Gee, I don't know, Clint." Nat shouldered him out of the way and started to rummage through his closet.

"It's not a crush. It's just... admiration. He's smart and funny and hellishly competent."

"And cute and has a great ass."

""Since when have you been checking out Phil's ass?"

"Don't you mean Coulson's ass?" Nat asked over her shoulder. "Do you ever buy any of your own clothes, or do you just steal them all from SHIELD? I recognize your outfits from five different undercover ops in here."

"It's not like they would fit anyone else,” Clint said petulantly. “Andre in wardrobe said they have to custom-sew all my shirts because of my, and I'm quoting him directly here, 'massive sculpted shoulders.' He's gay."

"Who, Andre? Yes, of course he's gay."

"No, Phil. Coulson. He’s gay. I mean I always kinda assumed he was at least bi, but... when I said 'gay' he didn't correct me or anything."

"I know. This one,” Nat said, holding out a shimmery steel grey dress shirt. “With your black suit pants and here…” She dug into her purse and pulled out a small package wrapped in black paper and tied with a single strand of silver ribbon.

“What’s is it?” Clint asked suspiciously, pulling on his pants and taking the shirt off the hanger.

“The idea is that you unwrap it and find out,” Nat said in her best ‘talking to Clint as if he was a small child’ voice.

“You got me a present?”

“I wanted you to look nice for your date with Coulson.”

Clint slid the ribbon off the package and tore the paper open. Inside was a tie. A deep purple silk tie. 

“It’s not a date,” Clint mumbled, looking down at the gift in his hands. 

“Not a real one, no. But you want to make a good impression for him, right? Make his sister think he’s found himself a nice boy so she stops trying to set him up?”

“Yeah, I guess.” It was starting to dawn on Clint exactly how excruciating this evening was going to be, and he looked up at Nat with misery in his eyes. 

“There there, it will be okay.” Nat patted his cheek and then took the tie out of his hands. “Put your shirt on and then I’ll tie this for you.”

“I know how to tie a tie,” Clint grumbled as he slid his arms into the sleeves of the gunmetal-grey shirt and flexed his shoulders to double check that the seams wouldn’t rip.

“Of course you do. Coulson taught you for that op in Prague, three years ago,” Nat ignored his protest and flipped his collar up to do it for him. “There,” she said stepping back. “Now go do whatever it is you do with your hair, and I’ll drive you over to the gallery.”

~~~~~~

“Nat,” Clint said as they pulled up in front of the gallery. Phil was standing outside waiting for him dressed in one of his best navy blue suits. The one that was so dark blue it was almost black. It also happened to be one of Clint’s favourites.

“Go. Just be yourself and it will be fine.” Nat gave him a look that he knew meant if he didn’t get out of the car within five seconds, she’d stab him somewhere particularly painful. 

“Okay.” Clint took a deep breath, steeling himself. “And, Nat? Thanks.”

“Smile! Remember you’re supposed to be having fun!”

So Clint plastered a smile on his face as he climbed out of Nat’s car. As a result, the first thing he saw was Phil smiling widely back at him, and coming to meet him at the curb. Clint heard the squeal of tires as Nat pulled away, but the rest of his attention was focussed on Phil, who was pulling him into a hug. 

Clint felt Phil’s arms circle his waist and Phil’s cheek next to his. He reminded himself to breathe. Then he told his arms that they should obviously be hugging Phil back. 

“This okay?” Phil asked quietly in his ear.

“It’s fine. Great. Fine.” Clint stammered back. 

“Good. You ready to do this?”

‘It’s acting, just like on an undercover op,’ Clint told himself desperately. ‘You can do this, Barton.’ “Yeah, no problem. Let’s rock this fancy art shindig.”

Phil was grinning as he pulled away and Clint had to stop himself from making a small disappointed noise in his throat. But then Phil took his hand, and led him towards the door. 

Clint braced himself for weirdness. For guys in berets and white silk scarves. For Phil’s sister being stunning. For Phil’s sister being… the opposite of stunning. For Phil’s sister hating him on sight. For having to say something about art that didn’t make him sound like an idiot… Clint was, in fact, so busy bracing himself that it took him a minute to realize that they were standing in the middle of a cocktail party. A perfectly normal cocktail party with perfectly normal-looking people, just like the ones he’d been at undercover a half-dozen times before. He started to relax. A bit. 

Phil dropped his hand and he looked over in a panic. Had he done something wrong? Was Phil’s sister advancing on them like an Abrams tank? No Phil was reaching for two glasses of champagne off a tray that a woman in waitstaff uniform was passing around. He handed one to Clint.

“I know you can’t stand the stuff,” Phil said quietly, “but you don’t actually have to drink it, just hang onto the glass for a bit, okay?”

“Sure. No problem.” Clint got a grip on himself and relaxed a little more. He and Phil stood together, Phil taking a small sip of his champagne and Clint looking around. He reminded himself that he wasn’t supposed to be threat-assessing the other people at the party or evaluating the building for potential sniper locations. ‘Getting a grip’ wasn’t going quite as well as he wanted. ‘Art. It’s an art gallery. Look at the art,’ he told himself. And did.

“Phil, is that a…” 

“A what?” Phil asked.

“That, over there.” Clint gestured minutely with his chin to a… sculpture that was on a pedestal behind Phil. Phil turned.

“A bronze cast of an erection? Yes, it is.”

“How did they… No, I don’t wanna know.” Clint looked, actually looked, at the paintings on the walls for the first time since they walked in. “Um…” he started, and then had no idea what to say next. He was staring at a bigger-than-life-sized rendering of a male nude from nipples-to-knees. The skin was painted with some kind of shimmery gold-brown paint (more bronze? he wondered) which highlighted the muscles, which were so detailed that Clint could tell that the… model was arching his back and straining upwards. His hand was wrapped around his cock, obscuring most of it, and a shadow fell across one thigh, but it was clear that the painting was of a man on the verge of orgasm. Clint’s own cock twitched in his pants and his mouth went dry. He took a sip of his champagne and wished he hadn’t.

“This is the kind of art that your, ah sister, ah…” Clint gave up again.

“Yes. She has represented Zenon Hesperian for years. Ever since he… Ah, here she is now,”

“Olivia, so good to see you.” Phil said taking a step away from Clint’s side and putting one arm around a middle-aged woman in an emerald-green dress. 

“Philip I’m so glad you could finally make it!”

Clint watched as they kissed each other’s cheek and then stepped back. 

“Olivia, I’d like you to meet Clint. Clint, this is my sister Olivia.”

Clint resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his pants before holding it out. Phil’s sister looked him straight in the eye and gave him a solid handshake, which didn’t surprise him in the least. 

“It is so lovely to finally meet you, Clint,” she said.

“Uh, yeah… Yes, great. You too.” 

“I see you’re all fixed up with a drink. Have you had a chance to look at any of the art?”

“Um, Phil was just starting to tell me about, uh, Zenon Hesperian,” Clint said, proud of himself for managing to remember the artist’s weird-assed name. Phil must have been pleased with him, too, because he slipped his arm around Clint’s waist. Or maybe he was just doing it for his sister’s benefit.

“Yes, everyone was very shocked when I first chose to represent him. I was even accused of being a pornographer. But Philip was always very supportive. So, how did you two meet?” Clint shot a glance at Phil. At least this, being grilled and sticking to his cover, working out the details on the fly with Phil and communicating with glances, was something that he was comfortable with. Good at, even.

“At work,” Phil said.

“Oh, do you work in insurance too, then?” Olivia said, her eyebrow arching as she looked Clint up and down. “You certainly don’t have the build of someone with a desk job.”

“Actually I spend most of my time out in the field on, ah, investigations.”

“Ah, that, I can see.” 

“Clint is one of our best investigators. In fact around the office we call him ‘Hawkeye’ because he never misses anything.” Phil gave a little squeeze and Clint could feel the warmth of his hand sitting just above his belt through the thin fabric of the shirt. His heart sped up. 

“Well in that case I’ll be very interested to hear what you think of the show. I’ll let you two walk around and look at everything. There’s a buffet table over by the asshole,” Olivia said casually, waving a hand towards the back of the gallery. “There are people I have to talk to, and hopefully sell art to, so I’ll catch up with you boys later.”

Clint exhaled as Olivia turned and walked away.

“You did great Clint,” Phil said, leaning in a little closer to whisper in his ear. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome. So, uh, I guess we’d better look at the paintings and… things, huh?”

“Yes, I guess we’d better.” Phil didn’t move away, instead he used the arm he had around Clint to steer him over in front of another painting. This one showed two men lying sprawled on their bellies, relaxed, probably asleep. Their faces were mostly in shadow and the viewer’s eye was drawn to their asses, which were pert and round and muscular, and their thighs, which were touching in the kind of easy familiarity shared by long-time lovers. 

Clint felt a pang of regret. He’d never had that. Never been with someone long enough to be relaxed sleeping with them. Never woken up next to someone he loved and trusted completely. He swallowed.

“So, what do you think?”

“It’s very, ah… peaceful. It’s… it’s like you can tell that they had great sex the night before and they’re going to wake up and smile at each other and probably kiss and…” Clint’s throat closed up on him and he stopped talking.

“You can tell that they’re in love,” Phil said quietly.

“Yeah.” Clint realized that Phil’s thumb was rubbing his side a little. ‘Probably unconscious. He’s in character, after all,’ Clint told himself. 

“You hungry?” Phil suddenly asked. 

Clint wasn’t, not really, but eating would give them something to do instead of looking at paintings of sexy naked men for a few minutes, at least. So he said, “Yeah, I could eat.”

“If the food is weird or horrible, we can go grab a pizza after. My treat,” Phil said, stepping into Clint’s side to avoid crashing into a large woman who was gesturing expansively with her glass of champagne. Clint felt Phil’s body pressed up against him and he wanted nothing more than to pull him even closer and bury his nose in Phil’s neck. 

‘This was such a bad idea,’ Clint thought. He had done a pretty good job of burying his feelings and ignoring them up until now, but after this it was going to be a whole lot harder. Now that he knew what it was like to hold Phil’s hand, to have Phil’s arm around him, to go out with Phil on a date, Clint desperately wanted it for real.

They made their way to the buffet table, but Clint stopped short when he saw the sculpture on display next to it. “Jesus,” he said before he remembered where they were. He said it on a quiet breath, though, so only Phil heard him. 

“Yeah,” Phil agreed, standing next to him and slipping his arm around Clint’s waist again. Food forgotten, they both stared at the sculpture, which was labeled simply, “Asshole.” It was also a life-sized bronze, this time of a man’s ass. Two pert globes were lovingly rendered, the metal darkened and burnished to evoke the soft, silky texture of skin. The ass was being palmed by a pair of hands with strong fingers which pressed small indents into the bronze ‘flesh.’ The thumbs pressed deeper than the fingers, digging in to spread the ass cheeks wide and expose a slightly open hole. 

Clint’s cock rose to half-mast in his pants, imagining Phil’s hands spreading him open like that. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Phil’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and it made Clint feel a little better to know that Phil was affected by the sculpture too.

“That’s something,” Phil said and Clint waited a moment to see if there was more to the sentence, but apparently Phil’s words were failing him. 

“It, uh, makes you think,” Clint said.

“Yes, it does. I think it’s beautiful,” Phil said softly into his ear. Phil’s arm tightened a little around him, and Clint shivered. He wanted Phil to push him up against the nearest wall and do… well, anything, really. Clint reminded himself that this was all a sham for Phil’s sister; that nothing was going to happen between them. 

To try to distract himself from thoughts of Phil pounding his ass, Clint looked at the buffet table. The… erotic theme of the artist’s work had been carried over into the food, most of which looked like it belonged at either a bachelorette party or a Valentine’s Day dinner. There was a chocolate fountain with long-stemmed cherries and bite-sized pieces of banana and kiwi. There was a large tray of penis-shaped chocolates and another of cream-filled profiteroles. Clint only knew what those were because he had once been undercover at a mafia boss’ wedding. 

He leaned in and quietly asked Phil, “Is that offer of pizza later still on?”

“Absolutely,” Phil said, looking at the spread on the buffet table, his ears turning slightly pink. “Definitely. Let’s, ah, go look at some of the other paintings for a bit, and then we can find Olivia and make our excuses.” Phil took Clint’s hand and led him away from the buffet table and over to a less crowded part of the gallery. They stopped in front of a painting that depicted a man kissing another man’s chest an inch away from his nipple. The man’s eyes were closed and he had a soft smile on his face, his expression tender. 

“That’s, um, nice,” Clint said. They stood for another minute, and then Phil tugged minutely on his hand, and they moved to the next painting, which seemed to feature the same couple. This time the man who had been doing the kissing was lying on top of his partner, but the painting’s focus was on their clasped hands, fingers threaded together and squeezing tight. Clint became acutely conscious of Phil’s hand in his, but he didn’t want to let go. Didn’t want Phil to think there was anything wrong. 

They moved to the next painting. This one was more explicit, while at the same time not being actually pornographic. Similar to the sculpture by the buffet table, the painting featured a man's hands, this time spreading his lovers thighs wide from behind. Fingers pressed into flesh, muscles strained. Clint could almost hear the moans and sighs of the man about to be fucked. His cock was at half-mast in his pants again, and he was afraid his hand would start to sweat in Phil's. 

He needn't have worried, though, because Phil let go of his hand and put his arm around Clint, pulling him close. If they weren't in a room full of people, Clint wouldn't have been able to stop himself from kissing Phil, even if he got a punch in the jaw for his trouble. Phil leaned in close. So close, that for an instant he thought Phil was going to kiss him, but instead he put his lips to Clint's ear. 

"My sister is heading towards us," he whispered, hot breath tickling Clint's cheek. It would be so easy to turn and put his lips on Phil's. He could claim he was acting for Olivia’s benefit, or something. Before he got the chance to, however, Phil was pulling back slightly and smiling over Clint's shoulder. Clint turned, but Phil kept his arm firmly around his waist. 

"So, what do you think of the exhibit, Clint?" Olivia asked.

"He's a very talented artist," Clint said, figuring that that was safe while he thought of something else to say. What did people say about art, anyway? He didn't know a damn thing about brushwork or form or anything. "You can, um, tell that he, uh, understands the... how deep a, uh, person’s, um, feelings can be when they're with someone that they're really, uh, into." Clint finished stumbling through his sentence and blushed, sure that he'd just sounded like a complete idiot in front of Phil's sister.

"Your boyfriend is very perceptive," Olivia said to Phil. "I can see why you two are together. Do you want to meet the artist? It's a bit of a mob right now, but I can clear a path and introduce you."

"Thank you, but we have plans for a late dinner, so we really should be going,” Phil said with a smile.

"Of course, I understand. I'm so glad you came, Philip, and it was wonderful to finally meet you, Clint." Olivia put out her hand and when Clint took it, she leaned in to kiss his cheek. "You’re good for him," she whispered into his ear before pulling back. Clint only had a minute to wonder what the hell that meant before she was kissing Phil goodbye and then Phil took his hand and led him through the crowd and out the door. 

When they got to the sidewalk, Phil turned left and kept walking, and Clint followed. 

“Let’s go find that pizza, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, that’d be great.” Clint suddenly realized that Phil was still holding his hand. “Uh, Phil?” Clint stopped walking. Phil turned and stepped to the side so that they weren’t blocking the sidewalk. He let go of Clint’s hand and then looked at him sheepishly.

“Sorry. Thank you, Clint, you were great. And, ah, I’ve been meaning to tell you all night, you look really nice. That shirt really brings out the green in your eyes.” Phil was looking into his eyes with an expression that Clint couldn’t figure out.

“Phil?” Clint asked, and took a half-step closer, because after being in physical contact with Phil for most of the last two hours, the four inches between them seemed like much too large a gap.

“I, ah, really enjoyed spending time with you this evening,” Phil said, the tips of his ears turning pink as he laid one hand on Clint’s arm. It was only natural, Clint told himself, to put his own hands on Phil’s waist, feeling the silky warmth as he slid his hands under Phil’s suit jacket. 

“Phil,” Clint said again, aware that he sounded a little desperate this time.

“I’m sorry for being such a coward for so long,” Phil said softly, moving even closer. Clint could feel the warmth of Phil’s body from his shoulders to his knees, and it made him long for more. So much more. 

Phil stared at him for a moment more before asking, “Is this… can we–“

Clint kissed him. Softly at first, just a gentle touch of his lips to Phil’s, but then as Phil responded, parting his lips in invitation, Clint tightened his arms around Phil and kissed him hungrily. Time seemed to stop and Clint’s whole world narrowed to Phil’s lips on his, Phil’s tongue in his mouth, Phil’s body pressed up against him. Clint felt Phil’s hand cup his cheek and then slide back into his hair and he moaned into the kiss. 

Phil pulled back. “We, ah, should probably… public street.”

“Oh, right.” Clint could feel the flush in his own face and see the brightness in Phil’s eyes.

“How about we order in that pizza at my place?”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Good,” Phil said, stepping back but taking him by the hand again and leading him to the curb to hail a cab. As they waited for one to appear, something Phil’s sister said came back to Clint.

“Phil, what did your sister mean when she said it was nice to ‘finally’ meet me. I thought our cover was that we’d only been dating for three months?”

“Ah, well I might have told her about a work colleague that I was, ah, interested in.”

“But she was still trying to set you up with other guys.”

“Well…” Phil’s ears turned pink again. “She used to.”

“Phil,” Clint said with dawning realization. “Did you plan this whole thing? With the invitation in your office and the paintings and the penis sculptures and everything?”

“No, no! My sister has represented Zenon Hesperian for years.”

“But you knew that was what the exhibit was going to be like. And you let me see the invitation on your desk on purpose!” Clint didn’t know whether to be mad that Phil had deceived him, or thrilled that Phil had made the effort.

“Yes, that was dishonest of me. I’m sorry. I, ah, didn’t know if you were, ah, interested. In me. I thought this might be a good way to find out.” Phil was blushing pink now, and Clint couldn’t wait to drag him home and tear his clothes off.

“You could have just asked.” 

Phil shrugged, “Like I said, I’ve been a coward. Forgive me?”

“We gonna order that pizza right away?” Clint asked.

Phil blinked at the non-sequitur. “No, we don’t have to, why?”

“Because some of those paintings gave me ideas.”

“Just the paintings?” Phil asked, sliding his hand down to Clint’s ass and giving it a squeeze.

“No, not just the paintings.”

“Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> A huge Thank You to DizzyReadhead for beta-reading!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at: [Jo Mathieson](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/)


End file.
